


a matched pair

by yasgorl



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Spoilers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-14
Updated: 2016-05-14
Packaged: 2018-06-08 09:12:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6848440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yasgorl/pseuds/yasgorl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They make it to the tail end of the quinjet before Steve’s checking Bucky for damage sustained.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a matched pair

They make it to the tail end of the quinjet before Steve’s checking Bucky for damage sustained. Bucky lets him do it at first while the ramp lowers. Then he nudges Steve and they stumble together inside. The wind sounds like a wild thing through the single opening. Snow whirls in and stings the side of Bucky’s face.

He leans against the interior and watches Steve fumble at some invisible paneling, a foot away from where Bucky had pressed his own hand earlier - a few hours, years, a century before - and pulled a gun out from a row of weaponry.

“It should be - ” Steve says, a second before the interior wall slides away and down, revealing a low, flat padded bench. The blood down Bucky’s front has dried tacky and uncomfortable in the bitter cold. He makes a face and feels it stretch and pull on his skin, takes the few steps closer to Steve with his arm around his side. The nub of jagged metal and naked wiring that remains of his left arm is still sparking in fits and starts. He feels off-center. Lighter than air on that side, like he’s shed a mountain of weight. A century of misdeeds. But he’s maimed and killed with both hands, Bucky thinks. So he’s only lost the half of it.

He steps close enough that his boots stop an inch away from Steve’s, who’s breathing hard and staring back at Bucky.

“Take that damn thing off,” Bucky says. He’s close enough he can nearly feel Steve’s pent up breath as he exhales, eyes riveted on Bucky. Bucky nods his chin up at Steve’s helmet. Steve blinks, then he’s tugging at the strap and shoving the helmet off with both hands.

Bucky catalogs the injuries on Steve’s face with one sweep. A bruise the size of Bucky’s hand on his cheekbone, blood at the corner of his mouth, more scrapes and cuts stark against Steve’s pale skin.

“Better?” Steve asks, a wry smile tugging at his lips.

“Nah, I changed my mind,” Bucky replies. His lips stretch into a smile and Steve makes a funny noise; a choked up laugh.

Steve shakes his head, eyes down on his helmet, holding it for all of a second before tossing it to the ground. It makes a much lighter sound than his shield did hitting concrete. He’d dropped that for Bucky and more. The thought snags, hits a wall in Bucky’s brain, refusing to sink in. His heart is pounding again in his chest, feels like it could swell up and choke him and suddenly he can’t get another word out. He sits down heavily on the bench.

The sound of ice crunching heavily underfoot makes them both turn to the quinjet’s opening. T’Challa stands just beyond the lowered ramp, helmet in hand, serene and still.

“We have unfinished business,” he says. He looks at Bucky for a long, silent moment. Bucky nods back, a single movement. He wants to reach out for Steve and pull him closer. Insead, he clutches harder at his side.

“Go,” he says. He leans back against the wall and closes his eyes to rest.

*

Bucky wakes to the sound of the exit ramp raising and the quinjet spurring to life. Steve takes a seat at the front, fingers flicking at switches and tapping at screens. It could be a mere second or a few hours after Bucky’s eyelids had slipped shut. He thinks he hears the shadow of two voices speaking in his mind, overheard as he drifted in that dreamless state before sleep - T’Challa and Steve beyond where Bucky could distinguish anything but a word or two, quickly snatched away in the wind. He clears his throat and Steve glances quickly back.

“I’ve got about twenty sets of coordinates in mind better than this frozen hellhole,” Bucky calls out, grunting as he sits up. He sways in position as the quinjet begins to take off.

“Bet nothing beats the set I have,” Steve replies, smiling down at the controls as they gain speed, cutting through a swath of white clouds, hung low against grey sky.

Bucky hangs on with his good arm until they’re stable and Steve’s set the quinjet to autopilot. There’s a stretch of silence as the quinjet hums around them and Steve searches for a first-aid kit. Bucky watches as Steve pulls out antiseptic and gauze and bandages. He’s already moving a little smoother, healing right under Bucky’s eyes. First grade supersoldier formula. A mold neither Bucky nor the other Winter Soldiers could ever fit.

Bucky unzips the front of his vest and twists out of it one handed. His shirt underneath is soaked with blood, now drying rusted-brown. He tugs at the hem, winces when a bruised muscle pulls strangely in his arm. He’s about ready to just rip it off when Steve interrupts, shuffling closer.

“Let me,” Steve says. He kneels up on his knees and peels Bucky’s shirt off, pinching the fabric gingerly between his fingers like it might turn to life and bite him. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from Bucky the first time he’d seen him, standing in Bucky’s kitchen with Bucky’s battered notebook in his hands, wide-eyed, drinking Bucky in like he was the last thing Steve would see on earth. Now his eyes won’t settle, and he’s looking anywhere but at Bucky’s naked chest.

“It ain’t on fire, Steve,” Bucky grunts out. Steve visibly colors. He yanks the shirt up the rest of the way and holds it for a second in his hands before ripping it in one quick motion. He leans forward and wraps a strip of fabric around the stub of Bucky’s metal arm. He pauses once he’s done, eyes down at his hands. His chest rises as he takes in a deep breath.

“Buck,” he lets out. Stalls.

“Come here, dammit,” Bucky says, reaching out and pulling Steve forward. He wants to be touched so badly he’s nearly shaking with it, wants it just as bad as he did the first time he’d seen Steve in so long, appearing like a mirage in that shitty apartment. Bucky’s grip on Steve doesn’t falter but his lips are gentle when he leans forward and presses them to Steve’s, kissing him.

Steve makes a soft sound against Bucky’s mouth, yearning and sweet. He leans in as much as he can, body flat against the front of the bench, right between Bucky’s knees, pressing into Bucky’s touch. His hands grasp at Bucky’s thighs like he doesn’t know where else he can put them.

“Touch me,” Bucky gasps out, pulling back just enough to speak. Then Steve’s hands are on him, sliding carefully up his naked sides, thumb sweeping gently at his bare skin. Bucky shudders and moans and Steve nudges at him, deepening the kiss. His tongue slips inside Bucky’s mouth, wet and filthy.

When they pull away again Bucky reaches out to grip Steve’s jaw. He presses his thumb to the center of Steve’s bottom lip.

“Been waiting too damn long for that,” Bucky says, and Steve smiles, eyes shining.

“Don’t I know it.”

*

Steve pilots the last hour before landing. Bucky watches at his side as thick forest passes in a dark green blur. Slower and slower in the end until he can distinguish separate trees. Rivers and rock formations and lush valleys. Cities wedged into the landscape like gleaming jewels.

“Tony was right, you know,” Bucky says, once they’ve landed. The ramp lowers before them but he’s only got eyes for Steve as he speaks, watching the minutia of his expression. Carefully blank, now. Staring right back at Bucky. Thick, humid air moves in like a fog. He smells earth and greenery, the vestiges of recent rain.

“You don’t deserve Howard’s shield. You deserve one made just for you,” Bucky says, and watches as Steve’s face softens, and his eyes go bright. The air feels electric between them.

“Yeah?” Steve says, softly. His eyes are on Bucky’s mouth, then back up again.

Bucky smiles.

“Think I can get another arm? We’d make a great matching set.”

He says it as light as he can, a smile in his voice, like he doesn’t deserve to be left just as he is. But hope is a stubborn thing, clinging to his ribcage and beating at his chest. Because Steve had seen the worst of him and he was still at Bucky’s side. He’d still reached for him and taken Bucky with him, matched him step for step. He’s not used to asking for anything, but, he thinks, in this moment he couldn’t ask for more.

This time when Steve reaches out it’s to pull Bucky to him, smiling as he says the words inches away from Bucky’s lips.

“Buck, we already do.”

*


End file.
